Mass Effect: Dysmorphia is All In Your Head
by McDouggal
Summary: Rated M for language and graphic descriptions of violence. Please read the Author's Note at the end of chapter one before you accuse me of making fun of/hating trans people. I'm dropped onto Mindoir in the closing hours of the Batarian Slaver attack in 2170. Except I'm not in my normal body. I'm somehow a girl now?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Where am I? Wait. Who am I?**

With a loud gasp, I wake up. Looking over to my left, I see a ruined metal wall, and to my right a pile of rubble. Looking down, I see that I'm covered in a light layer of rubble and dirt; I raise my hand to my face and it comes away sticky with half-dried blood.

 _All right, something happened. I don't remember what; must've got a concussion that gave me amnesia. I don't recognize that wall; must be somewhere other than my home. Toes feel like they're moving; might be phantom? No, my leg just moved when I told it to. Same with the other. Alright, paralysis is not a thing. Do I have my glasses? No. Shit. Not looking forward to that._

I carefully brush the debris off of my torso, and

 _Wait._

 _Why the fuck do I have breasts._

 _I'm a guy._

 _Alright, I'll deal with this later, I have to get out of here now._

Carefully pushing myself up into a sitting position, I deal with my head swimming for a few minutes while I do my best to check for anything broken. I come to the conclusion that at the very least, the right side of my ribcage is bruised, as it hurts to touch and breathe. Maybe it's cracked? I don't think it's broken; it would hurt more than that if it was broken... Right?

I clear the rubble from my legs and prepare to stand. As I do, I can't help but feel at the fork of my legs.

 _And I have no dick. Ok, I am most definitely a girl now._

 _Deal with it later, man. Or should that be woman? No, stop, deal with it later._

I roll over onto my stomach and slowly stand up, but when I'm upright, my head starts swimming and I fall against the ruined wall, knocking it down and landing me painfully on my side. Curling up in pain, I narrowly avoid having more rubble fall on me.

An eternity that was probably only about ten seconds later, the pain begins to recede. Uncurling and taking another look around, I realize that I've managed to fall outside; but I've never seen a whole sky be red outside of sunrise or sunset.

 _Either I'm hallucinating or something is severely wrong. It seems to be a cloudy day, but the only time I've heard of red skies is if there was a major fire recently in the area. And Tolkien, but that doesn't count. I hope._

Looking around, I realize I don't recognize the architecture or any landmarks, although it's very obvious that something has been very wrong, as I see pockmarks and holes in the walls all around, and obvious places where there used to be buildings.

I frown as I think _Who in fucking hell was building with metal walls all around here? That's... Odd. I don't remember this at all._

 _Wait, why can I see this well. I should not be able to read... that..._

 _What._

I've just seen a sign that says "Mindoir Ge_ral Sto_."

 _Mindoir is in the Mass Effect universe. This must be a hallucination... right? It's not a dream because I can feel pain._

 _But isn't dreaming also a form of hallucination?_

 _Goddamn it, this philosophy shit is giving me a headache. If it_ _is_ _Mindoir, the only reason for all these pockmarks and holes is that it was just attacked. Assume it's not a hallucination for now._

With that settled, I walk inside the store in an attempt to find some painkillers and water. Food would probably be good too; if this is Mindoir, it must've been recently attacked and I don't know how long I'll be stuck here before the Systems Alliance arrives.

If I'm lucky, they might even have a weapon that I can ste - liberate.

 _Wait. One of the possible backgrounds for Shepard, didn't they include her being one of the only survivors of an attack by slavers on Mindoir? Could I be Shepard? Please no. FUCK no. I'd put a bullet in my brain if I was the one who had to be the one who was standing in front of the Council trying to prove Saren's guilt, let alone leading a mission to first stop Saren, then stop the Collectors, then stop the Reapers._

I quiet my thoughts as I start searching the wrecked store; I find some Mass-Effect style drink containers on a shelf with a corresponding label of "bottled water" and also find a backpack to put them in. I crack one open and drain it quickly. Despite how thirsty I am, I hold off from drinking another; I know that drinking too much too quickly when you're dehydrated can cause you to throw it up, leaving you worse off than before. Continuing my search, I find a bunch of over the counter meds, including some Aspirin and Ibuprofen. I read the instructions and pop an Ibuprofen dry. I look for medi-gel, but find none; I don't remember if it's a restricted drug or just not invented yet.

 _Or maybe it's valuable enough that the slavers would've taken it, too._

Either way, there's a small first aid kit and a bathroom. I go into the bathroom to see if I can find a mirror to clean up the apparent cut on my head.

Wonder of wonders, the bathroom is mostly intact, and the mirror is unbroken. There's no running water, but I expected that. Cracking open the first aid kit, I wet a bit of cotton with some of my water and wipe the sticky blood off of my face as best I can.

The source of the blood appears to be a four inch long gash in my forehead, just below the hairline. I cut a strip of gauze and put it on there, attaching some butterfly bandages over it to hold it in place.

 _The sink is higher than I remember public bathroom sinks being. Either I'm shorter or the sink is higher. Maybe both._

 _Hair is red, but that might be because of the blood that's been in it. Eyes are green. Huh, this is exactly like my last Shepard. Except she was a Spacer. And War Hero._

 _God, I hope I'm not Shepard._

No longer looking like death warmed over, although still feeling like it, I walk out into the store again to look for food.

And immediately duck back into the bathroom when I see someone in tan armor with a helmet walking down the street with a decidedly nasty looking weapon in its hands. Thankfully, it had been facing the other way, but it definitely didn't look like the Systems Alliance soldiers in Mass Effect 3, so it's pretty clear that this is either a colonial militia member that somehow didn't get captured or killed, who isn't worried about being seen by any leftover slavers, or this is a slaver searching for anyone missed before liftoff.

No bet on the first one. I'd say probably 99% odds on the second one.

 _What can I do if he finds me? I could surrender, but life as a slave does not appeal whatsoever. So, what are my resources?_

 _I have 4 full, unopened bottles of water, one half empty, and one empty. I've got a first aid kit with some bandages and rubbing alcohol. I've got a backpack, and I've got the clothes on my back._

 _Which appear to be some form of overall and a light long-sleeved shirt. With a credit chit in my pocket._

 _Ooh, there's 25 credits on here!_

 _FOCUS. Probably my only bet if he finds me is to ambush him and get the bag over his head, then beat him with one of the water bottles until he stops moving. Rubbing alcohol will destroy a human liver, but I have no idea if it would have any effect on an alien. Plus, I have no way to crack open his helmet to get it inside his mouth. Also, it takes forever to do so. Not an option._

 _Was there a knife in the store? I don't remember. It wasn't a priority over water and medical supplies. Stupid. Should've looked for a weapon as well._

 _Do I dare go out there to look for a knife?_

 _I think I have to. Helmets are kind of designed to prevent blunt force trauma. Really, all I need is a kitchen knife, and shouldn't a general store have one of those? Target and Walmart carry them. Just need to find the kitchen supplies._

I poke my head around the corner, and, seeing nothing moving, slowly move out, keeping below the tops of the shelving by crouching.

 _And to think I thought the stealth animations in Fallout and Elder Scrolls were ridicu-FOCUS!_

Reaching the end of an aisle, I look up and down, trying to find anything that says "Kitchen Supplies" or "Pistols" or "Slaver Poison."

Hey, a gu - girl can dream.

I luck out, and there's actually a rack of knives in a shattered case. I reach in and grab what looks like a gut knife, test the edge, determine it's so blunt that it couldn't cut melted butter, and grab a flip knife instead. I actually cut my fingertip while testing it, so it's plenty sharp. Ducking back into the bathroom, I quickly bandage my cut fingertip and practice deploying the knife so I can maybe do it without thinking. Hopefully. If I actually need to use it, I'll probably be too terrified to even remember it's there.

 _OK, I'm armed. I know fuck all about knife fighting, but ideally if I need to use it I'll have an element of surprise, and then all I need to do is get pointy end in soft spot. That would be throat or armpit if I remember armor technology correctly._

 _If they haven't figured out how to make knife-resistant undercoating._

 _Don't think about that, just hide and plan._

 _OK. Where can I hide? In the bathroom is the most obvious one, but if they're doing an exhaustive search, they'll check there and I'll be fucked with nowhere else to hide. I'll have to do a heads-up fight with a knife against someone with a gun – and I have no armor, they do. That's a good way to end up watering the plants. I need somewhere with a roof; if they're at all smart, they'll have something flying over looking for people from above as well. Hiding in the aisles is a possibility, if a stupid one. I'd have to be on alert for threats from multiple directions._

 _I could hide back where I started. Oh wait, that collapsed when I hit the wall. Bad plan. Even if it's still standing, it'll probably collapse if I BREATHE wrong._

 _I could just sneak out and go to where they've already che_

*CRUNCH*

I stop thinking and freeze as the sound of a foot stepping on rubble heralds the entrance of someone into the store. I slip the water bottles out of the backpack as I move the knife into my hand, but hold off on flipping it out for now. The footsteps are getting closer, and I sneak towards the end of the aisle where they're coming from.

 _If he's going to be coming into the store, I just need to eliminate him as a threat. I either win and stay free or lose and probably die, or I hide and if I get caught become a slave._

The intruder comes up, wearing the same tan armor as the earlier slaver, but not wearing the helmet.

 _Oh thank god, he's not wearing a helmet and he's facing the other way_ I think as I jump up from my crouch and drop the backpack over his head, dropping to the ground so that I can pull him back with all my weight. The Batarian cries out in surprise as he's pulled back, dropping his weapon. Expecting the impact, I roll back up, straddle him as he starts pulling off the backpack, deploy the knife and start stabbing at his face and throat.

The first strike slashes open his cheek. The second gets the jawbone. And the third causes blood to start fountaining from his neck.

I stop stabbing and miraculously don't drop the knife as I fall off, too shocked that I'd done that to think for a few moments.

Then my instincts kick in; my fight or flight response is currently geared extremely heavily towards fight. I flip the knife closed and stow it, grab the corpse and pull him out of easy view from the street; thankfully, the blood pool was in the aisle, not in the main walkway. I reach over, grab his rifle from where it fell.

 _Looks like a standard Lancer-style AR from Mass Effect. No obvious slot for ammunition, so probably still heat-based rather than thermal clips. Trigger and pistol style grip here, stock here. Heat indicator is probably this thing here. Standard iron sights. Ugh. I hate using irons._

 _Does he have a shield generator?_ I do a quick search on the outside of his body, but it's not on his chest. With a lot of effort, I roll the dead weight over and determine that if he does have a shield generator, it's integral to the armor, and he's got a good 5 inches on me. The only thing worse than no armor is armor that doesn't fit, so I forgo stripping him of his armor – not that I'd have the first clue about how to do that in the first place.

 _Alright, I need to move. When he doesn't report in, they're going to start looking along his assigned routes to figure out what happened to him._ Liberating another backpack, since the original is now covered in Batarian blood, I re-stow all of the water and the first aid kit. I take a quick look for food, but don't find anything that isn't canned.

 _All right, that's enough stalling. Time to move, killer._

I poke my head out of the door, looking up and down the street quickly and determining that nobody's in sight. I dash across over to an alleyway, and discover that it appears to be a dead end.

 _But if I get on top of that dumpster, the adrenaline high I'm still on might let me pull myself over the wall. Every moment I'm still in the open is another chance for me to get my ass killed or captured._

Clambering on top of the dumpster, I realize that my new body is either stronger or lighter than my old one. _Probably both, to be honest. I wasn't exactly the paragon of manly strength, and I was carrying around more than a few dozen pounds of extra weight. If I was a farmer here before, I'm probably stronger than I ever was back on Earth._

Popping my body up, I drop over the alley wall and land on the other side. I slowly walk to the end of the alley, and peek out.

 _That building looks like there was a fight there. Let's just avoid it for now. There. 50 yards down to my right, there's a clothing store. I should be able to hide in there fairly well._

 _Hell, I did that all the time when I was like five and playing hide and seek while my parents were shopping._ Double checking to make sure I'm clear, I just full out sprint in an attempt to make it there quickly.

I make it, surprising myself. I thought for sure Murphy would strike. Probably when I was in the middle of the street with no cover whatsoever.

A voice that very much sounds like the Batarians from the game calls out "Who's there?"

Goddamn it. I just had to taunt Murphy.

I pull the stock to my shoulder, and try to lower my voice, calling back "Is the building clear?"

"Yeah. Nothing but karking clothing that wouldn't fit anyone back home. I'm about to move on to the next building."

He's coming closer, and I step to the side, hiding behind a rack of dresses with the rifle raised.

When he steps out, I pull down on the trigger and about a dozen rounds spew out. His shields spark out after the first four. Whatever recoil compensation was in this thing makes it nice and easy to control; I actually pull down too hard on it and end up dragging the line of fire down. The Batarian lets out a cry that is cut short by the rifle fire.

 _Shit. That's another hidey-hole go_

 ***BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM***

I rush into the back of the store before I realize that it wasn't someone else shooting at me; it looks more like there's a bunch of blue shuttles landing. And some explosions going up above the trees.

 _YES! THE ALLIANCE IS HERE!_

 _Wait, shit. The Alliance is here. And there are still slavers in the colony. I need to remain hidden or I'll just be used as a human shield. Or as leverage._

I hide as best I can for the next hour until I hear someone speak in English "Hey Sarge, got a Batarian corpse here. Looks like it's fresh. Well. Fresher than it would be if it was from the initial landing. Either there was infighting, or there's someone alive around here."

"Well, call it in then. What was he killed with?"

"Looks like an Assault Rifle, close range. His weapon's still on the ground."

"Probably the same person who knifed the guy over in the general store. He didn't have a weapon on him."

I call out "Hey! I'm in here!" but it comes out as more of a croak.

Still, they hear. The Sergeant calls out "Come out and keep your hands where we can see them! We won't hurt you, I promise!"

I slowly walk out, keeping my salvaged rifle collapsed (during the hour long wait, I'd figured out the combination of buttons you needed to press to collapse it and the one button you needed to press to deploy it. It's actually a fairly ingenious system; there is practically no way to accidentally collapse the weapon, but it's simple enough to do that you can commit it to muscle memory). As I come out of the shop, the Sergeant says "Call the Einstein, we've found a survivor. She looks pretty roughed up, and I want a doctor and a therapist there for when she reaches the Einstein."

 **====Author's Note====**

 **This is not intended to insult or poke fun at the transsexual community. I came up with this idea roughly a year ago, when I realized that in practically every game I'd played with character creation that included a sex option, I'd chosen female roughly 90% of the time.**

 **Heck, I've actually forgotten what Mark Meer's voice acting sounds like. And I have roughly 900 hours between all 3 current Mass Effect games.**

 **By all means, complain about how I'm misrepresenting trans people. I'll read it, determine if it's going to be helpful, and then either incorporate it or not, depending largely on whether I want to incorporate it.**

 **One thing that I am** _ **not**_ **going to do is have my character transition to male. I've got an arc in mind where the reason behind this decision will become clearer.**

 **Anyone who reviews will get responded to; if you anon-review or specifically request it, it will be responded to in my Author's Note in the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: A name.**

"They destroyed the local census data?"

"Yes sir. Unrecoverable. They put a shotgun to it, then dumped every part they could remove into a vat of acid."

"Can we trace the acid?"

"It's standard HCl, sir. We've already tested it for the usual markers and found nothing."

"Offworld backups?"

"Some Terminus hacking group is claiming credit for their deletion."

"Any colonists that had their control chip implants go badly die so we can autopsy them and recover the control chips?"

"Looks like standard Terminus shit, sir. No major manufacturer. Anyone with some basic know-how could've made these. And you wouldn't need the know-how if you had steady hands and instructions to follow."

"Any survivors?"

"Sergeant Johnson reported about half an hour ago that they'd found a teenage girl. The girl is apparently alert and responsive, and she thinks that the girl killed two Batarians. However, she's not going to be of any help in figuring out what happened or identifying any colonists that were taken for use as slaves; she took a blow to her head, and reportedly doesn't remember her name, age, or the current year."

"Well, shit."

"Sergeant Johnson requested a doctor and a therapist to meet them in the docking bay. They'll arrive in about 10 minutes. Permission to send them out?"

"Granted."

"Thank you sir. I'll let you know when we know more."

...

"Sergeant Johnson, thank you for bringing the survivor up here. Did you get anything out of her on the way up?"

"No, doc. She was very much just shut down. She's barely said a word without prompting, and to be fair, the standard questions to treat shock and get someone thinking again aren't really useful here. Seriously, promoting someone for their name or the current year doesn't work when they're concussed and don't remember their name or the current year."

"Well, can't say I wasn't thinking that. Hopefully her memory comes back. By the way sergeant, doctor's orders are for you to stay on the Einstein for now; you were the first human she saw without a helmet, and the first one to talk to her, so that might be useful in treatment."

"I'll let the squad know that we're off colony sweep duty, then."

"You do that, then come back here ASAP. The medical doctor is still working on the physical trauma, but her initial impressions were that it was fairly light on damage given that she said she woke up in a collapsed building, which is probably what knocked her out."

...

"Alright ma'am, you did a fair job of bandaging that cut on your forehead, but I'm going to have to pull them off in order to properly look at, clean, and treat the wound. Can you look up for me so that I can get a cleaner angle to pull it off of you?"

I don't actually answer, just look up and wait for the doctor to pull it off of my face. She told me her name, but I don't remember it. She tried to have me pull off my clothes in a private room and get into a patient gown, but that went belly up when the shirt was stuck to my stomach and back with dried blood. I left the room and told her "My shirt is stuck and I can't get it off," and they ended up just bringing me inside and cutting the clothes that remained on me off of me so that they could actually treat the various wounds I got from having a section of a building collapse on me.

I'm currently completely naked, although at least now that they've finished treating the cuts on my abdomen and the cracked ribs, I'm allowed to cover myself somewhat. So I've got my legs up in front of my chest, and keep my ankle area in front of my... well, vagina.

 _You know, if they're actually trying to treat some mental health issues, the nakedness probably isn't helping. It's certainly got me much more defensive, since I'm feeling very vulnerable right now._

I feel the doctor pull the gauze and bandages off of my forehead, and feel the blood start to ooze down my face as the clot that had formed is torn open with it. After cleaning the dirt and grit out of the cut, the doctor then goes for her tube of medi-gel (Ha! It was invented, it's just not in wide distribution yet!) and works to seal it up.

It's an interesting feeling, and one I've gotten far too much chance to learn about in the three hours I remember of this life. It goes on and it's uncomfortably hot, then within a few seconds it's uncomfortably cold, then you no longer feel it because it's been absorbed by your skin.

Of course, now that we're finished with the medical treatment, the doctor hands me a patient gown - except this time it's definitely more like a poncho than a actual gown. Oh, they've got me on suicide watch. How wonderful. I wonder when they're going to send the actual fucking therapist in in a crappy attempt to reverse this shock.

They walk me to a rather comfortable looking bedroom - probably their "visiting dignitary" area of rooms if what I remember of how the actual crew of Systems Alliance vessels sleeps, hotbunking in sleeping pods.

 _Then again, given the distinct lack of things that you could do in this room to attempt to kill yourself, it might just be a room for people on suicide watch. Lighting is recessed into the ceiling, no sharp edges, no bathroom attached so you can't try drowning yourself._

 _Then again, that might just be a standard safety precaution on a fucking warship. Artificial gravity gets knocked out and you get thrown into a desk, you don't want it to be sharp edged._

 _Regardless, I'm just going to head over into that corner and curl up into a ball for now. Yeah, that seems like a good idea._

I pull my legs up to my chest again and pull the poncho over them before wrapping my arms around my legs, and I wait and watch the for for the undoubtedly female therapist that's going to come through.

 _There's almost certainly a bug in here with audio and video. That's what I'd do if there was someone on suicide watch. They're probably going to watch for a few minutes and then come in, unless I fall asleep, in which case they'll let me sleep for a while then come wake me up; unless I'm obviously having a nightmare in which case they'll come in and wake me up to get me out of it._

I'm just going to wait for them to come in.

...

"She hasn't moved in the last twenty minutes?"

"No, miss Antioch. She's just been staring at the door."

"Is she awake?"

"Her breathing rate hasn't changed and her eyes are open. It's possible, but unlikely."

"Keep sergeant Johnson on deck. We might need her as a friendly face."

...

As the woman walks in, I track her with my eyes as she walks over and pulls the chair out from the desk and sits down, seemingly content to wait for now.

I maintain vision at a halfway point between the woman and the door, allowing me to catch movement at either location and swing my vision over to it, and I continue to wait. I'm going to make her say the first word.

 _Matronly. Dressed in a naval uniform. Older women with that matronly feel are both accepted as harmless and a comforting shoulder, while the naval uniform implies authority and protection._

 _However, knowing that doesn't mean I'll do anything about it; the only way that I can think of to prevent it from working would be to create reasons to hate her, but she's just here to help._

I don't know what to say, so I'm going to have her say the first thing.

 _7X = 4394. Solve for X._

 _43/7 = 6 1/7. 19/7 = 2 5/7. 54/7 = 7 5/7. X = 627 and 5/7._

 _X^2 - 4 = 0. Solve for X._

 _Factoring it out, it must be (X - 2)*(X_

"My name is Vanessa Antioch. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"Scared. Vulnerable. Confused."

"Why are you feeling scared?"

"I don't remember practically anything, but I ran on instinct down there. I knew what I had to do, but I don't know why I have that knowledge. I know that killing those slavers was self-defense, but I don't know why killing them was self-defense, or how I knew they were slavers. I don't know how I know anything. The scared kind of stems from the confused, actually."

"Oh, so you're not scared of something external, you're scared of yourself. That's understandable, and it happens in cases like this. If you want, we can run a battery of tests to figure out what knowledge you have."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Why are you feeling vulnerable?"

"I spent a lot of today scared for my life, scared of myself, and got the fun experience of having to have my clothes cut off of me in order for wound treatment to occur, and they didn't give me clothing again until the doctor finished applying medigel on the cut on my forehead. As soon as I realized I was in danger, I figured out a way to defend myself. After that point, I was either armed or with armored soldiers until I got into the medbay, where I ended up having to be naked in front of a bunch of strangers. Despite being in probably the safest place I could be right now, I felt like a piece of meat while the doctor was treating me."

"Yes, the good doctor mostly treats servicemen and women. She's not used to treating civilians. I'll have a talk with her to remind her you aren't a marine or navy, and are feeling very scared and vulnerable."

"Have you found out my name?"

Vanessa Antioch sighs. "No, we have not, and we are unlikely to as well. You're the only survivor we've found so far who is functional, and you don't seem to be recovering memory as we go. The doc did a scan, and it looks like the areas that control long term memory will work to create new memories, though."

"Has anyone come up with one?"

"Not yet. This might me something you do yourself, or someone might come up with one."

"Thank you. Is there any chance I can get actual clothing instead of this cloth poncho thing?"

"I'll talk it over with the doctor."

...

"So, she's retained knowledge that was instinctual, but doesn't remember much of anything else?"

"Correct, Vanessa. She's actually pretty damn good with math; she's doing precalc without calculator aid and simple calculus with calculator aid. She had some initial troubles with the omni-tool, but those aren't really common among poorer colonies like Mindoir, so that's not unexpected. Reading comprehension is easily college level. She correctly identified each of the major Citadel species, as well as Krogan, Batarian, and Quarian. She was able to identify and show how to operate some of the farm machinery we found on the ground at Mindoir, although she was extremely freaked out by it because she just went onto autopilot to activate it. She had another one of her corner episodes, although thankfully those are getting fewer and farther between."

"I didn't know that last bit; who got her out of it?"

"Sergeant Johnson. For whatever reason, the patient implicitly trusts Johnson."

"Good; I thought the patient might be extremely trusting of Johnson, given that she was the one in charge of getting her to safety.

"How is her physical health?"

"The cracked ribs are almost completely healed, and those were the last things that I'm worried about."

...

The last few weeks had been weird, to say the least. Getting dropped into a fight for my life and freedom, in a universe that I thought was fiction, in a body that wasn't my own, and indeed was that of a seventeen year old girl, would be stressful enough. Having to either straight up lie or lie by omission to the people who are trying to help me was _extremely_ stressful, and then finding out that I was able to do things like use an omni-tool and operate farm equipment nearly broke me.

One thing that was done once they realized that I had those unconscious memories was they asked me to sit through a few hours of the ship VI reading off common female names in an attempt to find out my name, but that was declared a failure after three sessions, each of roughly an hour. With my ribs almost completely healed now, all that was left to do to get me as close to normal as possible was figure out a name.

As well, after some cleaning up, I did determine that I was pretty much a physical copy of my last Shepard, although my hair was ginger instead of the blood red.

"How about Valdis for a first name? In old Norse, Val translates to goddess, and dis translates to the dead. The name means goddess of the dead" suggests Sergeant Johnson.

"It's a little bit morbid, isn't it?"

"I think it fits. Valdis Freeman. I think it works."

"It's growing on me too. I think I'll use it."

 **====Author's Note====**

 **Not a lot to say about this chapter.**

 **If anyone manages to figure out the 4 words I removed from chapter 1, I will be shocked.**

 **Thanks for the reviews.**


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